It All Started With A Haircut
by Bored Outta My Mind
Summary: Draco is a hairdresser, Hermione tells the story. "But then, while we were still in the parking lot, he Sassy Salon suddenly combusts and turns into a flaming ball of fiery hair products." But does it really? Hmm...


I'll be updating my other story momentarily, but for now, here's a new one!

"Hermione, you need to go to that hair salon I've been telling you about," my mother was telling me for the billionth time just this week. And it was only Tuesday! How much longer would I have to put up with this! Ok, so maybe it wasn't **_quite_** a billion times, but hey, a girl has a right to exaggerate sometimes.

My response to her was, "Mother, I just got my hair cut last week." I said this calmly, as if I was talking to a 4-year-old that was a complete simpleton. So, of course, she sent a withering glare in my general direction. I sidled to the right, out of its direct line of fire, to safety. Or so I thought. She just moved her head to my new location, so I moved again. And again she turns just to glare at me. We did this a few more times. Finally, I throw my hands up in the air and lean against the wall behind me, admitting my defeat.

Content with her triumph, my mother continued her pestering. While some of you might not think so at the moment, pestering was the only way to describe what she was doing. Let's just say you don't know my mother. "Hermione, you've had the same exact hair style every day of your life since you turned 9 and I started letting you make your own decisions about your hair, which I believe I'm beginning to regret. You're 18 years old now and you still have the same exact hair!" She finished exasperatedly.

I held up a finger to object. "Technically, that's not true. The hairs on my head now not the same ones that I had 9 years ago." Once again, I got that glare. I didn't even bother trying to move this time. Needless to say, my time of objection was gone.

"Hermione, cut it out, you know what I mean. Sure, you're hair is…er…cute enough I suppose," here, she got that glare right back at her, "but I think it's time for a little change. Isn't 9 years more than enough of one thing?"

I sighed in annoyance. She continued with her objection to my hair styling (what was the big deal!) some more. "Come on!" she pleaded. "At least let them a few inches, to your shoulder. And if you won't let them actually do anything with it, you can at least let them straighten it. Just once!"

"Mother, who ever said I was even going to set foot in this stupid place! I'm not going and that's that!" I yelled childishly, turning my back to her and crossing my arms over my chest.

Uh oh. Looking over my shoulder, I saw it. Here it comes. There are the crossed arms over the chest, not unlike my own at the moment. Next there'll be…yup, there it is, the impatiently tapping foot. And then, right on time, there was the "Hermione…" in that scary warning tone that only mothers seem to be able to give.

My arms dropped back down to my side as I slowly turned around with a super sweet smile plastered on my face. "Yes mother dearest?"

"You **_are_** going to the hair salon." She oh so nicely informed me, pointing to the wall to her right. I reasonably assume that was supposed to be the direction in which the wretched place was located. Hmmm…I could have sworn it was to the left.

My recollections of where exactly the salon was actually located was rudely interrupted as she cleared her throat and looked at me expectantly. Oh yeah, she was waiting for an answer or rebuttal, just **_daring_** me to object again.

We started a glaring contest, my mother and I. I glared, she glared back just as hard. This continued for quite a few minutes, and while I've gotten much better, she still beat me. Meh. Not fair.

I let out a small shriek of frustration. "Fine! I'll go to this stupid hair salon! I'm not promising anything though." I warned. I had been about to say, "Are you happy now?" in a snotty way, but that was unnecessary. She was very obviously very happy. I tried to ignore her as a triumphant grin split across her face and she started her ridiculous victory dance. I failed miserably; there was no way to ignore that insanity.

"No need to rub it in." I mumbled sulkily under my breath. Instead of standing here to watch her, I decided to stomp upstairs, all the while mumbling about insane mothers.

Arriving at my bedroom door, I stopped short. The comforter on my bed was torn to shreds, by cat claws. Precisely, a large, orange cat with a crooked tail named…"Crookshanks!" I yelled for him. The said cat sauntered into view, looking perfectly smug with himself.

"Is it just 'Make Hermione mad day' or something? Or maybe it's 'Make Hermione feel like a loser day'!" I knew I was being just a **_tad_** bit overdramatic, but who cares?

Crookshanks shrugged his furry orange shoulders at me then pounced on my bed. Fully enjoying himself, he stretched leisurely, extending his little white claws into my comforter once more. I felt my teeth grinding slightly in my annoyance. "Stupid cat. You're lucky I don't strangle you. Now scat cat!"

His job seeming to be done, Crookshanks smirked at me (yes, that's right **_smirked_**) before flicking his tail at me and meandering out the door, taking his sweet time. I waited impatiently until his royal hiney was almost out the door then slammed it shut. I knew right now he was turning around to eye me disdainfully through the door. And now he was walking away with his kinked tail and big head held high, his pink nose pointed up in the air.

I shook my head them looked down at the bedspread to assess the damage. I sighed. Time for another new one. "I guess it's not too bad, I didn't like this one anyway." And looking down at it, I remembered exactly why. For one thing, my mother picked it out without me, so that's a downer right there. It was very much **_not_** my style. For one thing, it was hot pink (I'm so **_not_** a pink fan, and you'd think my mother would know that) and then it had flowers on it (also pink! But of a lighter shade, not that it made it any better). It just wasn't exactly my favorite to say the least. "I guess I should really be thanking the furry monster."

"Mom!" I yelled down to her.

"If you have something to say, come down here and tell me." She yelled back.

Ignoring her comment as if she hadn't actually said a thing, I continued shouting through the floor. "I need another comforter for my bed. And I'm going with you to pick it out this time."

I heard her sigh. "Another one again?"

"Hey! Don't blame me, it's Crookshanks' fault, not mine."

Crookshanks meowed innocently, which both women ignored.

"Yeah, I know, I know. Next time, you better get your lazy butt down here and actually talk to me. Got it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

"And don't roll your eyes at me like that." She called up to me.

The statement made me jump. Geez, that woman **_had_** to have cameras hidden in my room that she watched all the time. I checked every single nook and cranny in my room. Then a thought hit me. What if she bugged my stuffed animals? I tackled the ones sitting on my bed and patted them down, looking for any supporting evidence. Dang. Nothing. I sat cross-legged on my bed. Stupid mom vision. It just existed to get sons and daughters in trouble.

Getting tired of sulking, I grabbed a book and started reading.

Yeah, well guess where I am now. If you guessed that I was walking toward the hair salon that my mom bugged me about a billion times, you are correct. Congratulations! You win…absolutely NOTHING! Sorry if I sounded mean, but frankly, I don't care.

Ok, so we're walking up to this salon, right? You know what the name of the place is? It's…ahem…The Sassy Salon. Grand title, right? Riiiiiiight….Well, as you may have guessed, I was grumbling and mumbling. If I was going to be miserably made to go here, then my mom could be just as miserable. Isn't that how every teenage girl's mind works? I think so.

But then, while we were still in the parking lot, he Sassy Salon suddenly combusts and turns into a flaming ball of fiery hair products. My mom stared at it in shock (I was staring at it in smug triumph) with her mouth open and gaping. "Oh. Well I guess we won't be going here after all." She said, seeming to be in shock. You'd think that most normal people would be worried about the people inside or call 911 or something, but well, let's just say we aren't exactly normal people. So, with nothing more said, we got back in the car and drove home.

…

Yeah right. I **_wish_** that was what had happened. The Sassy Salon didn't actually combust right in front of our eyes, which I'm extremely sorry about at the moment.

Instead, my mom stops me about 6 feet away from the doors. I look up at her, and I'm sure there's hope shining in my eyes, desperately wanting her to say that if I was really so set against this, we didn't have to do it. She'd be disappointed, but she wouldn't make me go.

But noooooooo! That's not what happened. "Hermione, stop your childish whining," she chastised. "Now straighten up and act your age. What would people think if you walked in there slouched and sulking like that?"

I shot her a sideways glare and muttered sarcastically under my breath, "They'd think, 'My, what a nice girl, I wish she was my daughter.'" But I did as I was told anyway. She ignored my comment and gave a small nod, apparently satisfied enough. Without any further ado, we made our elegant entrance into the salon.

More wishful thinking, that was. My entrance was anything but graceful. I, being the clumsy fool I am, tripped over the metal thing in the doorway that the doors set on when they're closed. And if just tripping right when I walk in isn't enough, while I'm flapping and flailing like a large, awkward bird, trying to get my balance back, I hit a guy (a pretty cute guy really) that was innocently trying to walk out of the miserable place square in the face, giving him a bloody nose.. I squeaked out a quick, high-pitched "Sorry!" But that's not all. Oh no, of course not, not today. Right by the door was a large potted plant that, at the time, looked to be the perfect thing to grab. Well, it wasn't. I flung myself at it, giving it more credit than it deserved and thinking it would help me out at least a **_little_**. But it turned out to be one of those flimsy, fake, plastic plants. So it just bent under my weight and my momentum sent me toppling forward. BUT! I'm not quite done yet, almost, but not yet. There was a chair on the other side of the plant, and I, also being unlucky today as well as a clumsy fool, whack my jaw real good on the edge of it. **_FINALLY_**, I fall to the hard marble floor. By then, I was more than incredibly happy to be on the floor.

I rolled onto my back and just laid there. Then I noticed that it was dead silent. I swear, every single pair of eyes in that stupid salon were on me at that moment. But no one seemed to think to come see if I was okay, or still even ALIVE, they just stared. Finally, everyone got over themselves and many started laughing, as I figured they would eventually. My mother finally comes to check on me and one of the secretary type ladies comes with some ice in a fluffy white towel.

The lady out the ice to my sore jaw and I put my hand on it to hold it there myself. "Can you talk?" she asked.

My jaw wasn't hurt **_that_** bad lady. Sure, it hurt like heck and was throbbing and I was sure there was already a wonderfully colorful bruise there that made it look like I just got socked, but I could still talk. "Yeah, I can talk fine."

"Great." I heard my mother mutter sarcastically under her breath.

"It still hurts like heck though." I announced.

"Yeah, well it's nothing life threatening, so get over yourself."

Just as I opened my mouth, she said, "And this doesn't get you out of what we came here for, so you can save your breath." My mouth snapped shut with a scowl.

I almost kill myself and my mother tells me to get over myself and get on with the stupid haircut. What ever happened to motherly love! I push myself off the floor and glare at everyone in the salon. Who did they think they were? What right did they have to laugh at me just because I'm a clumsy fool?

I prepared to stomp away, but realized I had nowhere to go here. So I instead settled for just crossing my arms over my chest and trying to suffocate people with my death glares. Why my mind came up with death of suffocation from my glowering, I wasn't exactly sure. I guess it could work though. I mean, if my looks were some kind of solid or liquid things, they could seep into their mouth and nostrils and suffocate them. So yeah, it could work…in some other weird dimension where looks were solid things.

"Hermione, stop being so overdramatic. You're perfectly fine."

"Pshh! Yeah, I'd like to hear her say that about herself after doing what I just did. "Whatever you say mother."

My mom ignored my tone, when she normally would have gotten on my case for it. Instead, she turned to the secretary lady, who was still standing there doing absolutely nothing useful, and said, "As you can see, my daughter needs **_special_** attention." At this point, we were both glaring. Me because of her statement, and her because she thought I embarrassed her. Embarrassed her! Yeah right! She ignored my comment of, "I'm standing right here you know." "If you could get your best hair stylist, it'd be greatly appreciated."

The lady smiled. "Sure, I'll go get him." And how this guy was free right when we arrived is a mystery to me. I mean, if the guy was the best they had, wouldn't he be a little busy? Oh, who knows.

"Now Hermione, you are going to cooperate with us, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah." I'd agree to cooperate, but that didn't mean I was necessarily going to be nice.

A few minutes later, the lady came back with who was supposed to be their best hair stylist. Whether or not they were serious, I had no idea. Maybe this was just some cruel joke. Because with her, she had a boy that was just my age!

But wow, was he hott! He had slightly shaggy, tousled platinum blonde hair and blue-gray eyes that seemed to change shades all the time. He had a nice musculature build, not too slim, not too beefy. Too bad he was gay. What else would you expect with a hoot guy that's good at and apparently enjoys being a hairdresser? Why did it seem like a lot of the hottest guys were gay! It wasn't fair! I sighed inwardly.

My mourning for all the hott guys in the world was interrupted by the one in front of me. "Ah! Welcome ladies!" He said, in a very gay voice with a slight lisp might I add, clasping is hands in front of him girlishly. "My name is Draco Malfoy. And yes, I'm only 18, but that doesn't affect my work, I can assure you. Now what I can do for you two lovely ladies?"

I remembered why again we were here and turned away, grumbling and glowering again. My mom, seeing I obviously wasn't going to say anything. Took on the role of spokesperson.

"Yes, my daughter here, Hermione, needs something different done to her hair. She'd had it the same way since she was 9, and she's 18 now, you do the math. At least cut a off a few inches, to her shoulder and straighten it if you would please."

"Ooh! Sounds fun. I've got some ideas already. Now Mom, you go do some shopping or make yourself comfortable in the lobby. I have some work to do." Draco said with a charming smile that seemed out of place on a gay guy's face.

Mom smiled back gratefully. "Ok, thanks. Don't let her talk you out of anything you want to do."

"Don't worry, now go." He said, making shooing motions with his hands. And she went.

"Alright Ms. Grumpy, let's go get you washed up!" He said gleefully.

I gave him a weird glance then followed him as he led the way to the wash basins. I caught a glance of myself in one of the many mirrors. Why was my mom making such a big deal? It wasn't **_that_** bad, was it? Ok, so it did kind of look like a mouse brown blob, similar to a rat's nest I've heard, that went down to about mid-back. I sighed, I guess it really was time for a change.

"Ok Hermione, you're going to have to talk to me. I'd have a better idea of what you'd like with your hair if I knew a little bit about you." He said as he ran shampoo covered fingers through her hair.

"What is it that you want to know?" I asked in a bored tone.

"Anything. Well, for starters, what's your favorite color?"

"I dunno. I guess as long as it's not pink, I don't really care. But aside from orange, I usually tend to favor darker colors."

"Ah! Excellent! Ok, well I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do." There was a dramatic pause. "I am going to…surprise you! You won't be able to see it until I'm all done! But you'll love it girl, I promise."

I gaped at him. Was he brain dead or something! Surely, he could at least tell that I don't like surprises like this! No way was I going to let some weir gay guy do…who knows what to my hair!

He finished washing my hair and I stood up as he was about to lead me to a chair.

"Ok, next question. What's your favorite…yes?" He stopped, seeing one of the other girls that had been at the front desk approaching him.

"Yeah. Draco, Parvati keeps calling. She **_really_** wants to know when you want to go out with her again." From her annoyed tone, I can guess that this Parvati girl had called **_a lot._**

Draco sighed. "I already told her it wasn't working out with us. Remind me to talk to her."

She nodded. "Oh, don't worry, she won't **_let_** me forget. Oh yeah, and Pansy called, canceling your date with her. I know you'll be crushed." She said sarcastically with a grin.

"Oh thank God! I must have been drunk or something to even **_consider_** asking her out."

I started laughing. But then I abruptly stopped. Wait, so he's not gay? Now that she thought about it, he'd dropped what was apparently a **_fake_** gay tone while he'd been talking to the desk lady. And they'd been talking about dates. With girls! This was too weird. Why the heck would anyone want to make someone think they were gay!

"And your mother called. She wants you to meet her for lunch."

Draco winced. "Greeeeaaat. Well, thanks for telling me Lavender."

Lavender winked at him. No problem. Sorry to ruin your fun though." She said as she walked back to her post at her desk.

I turned to him, very possibly looking very ridiculous while holding a dark green towel to sopping wet head, and glared at him with my impatiently tapping foot. "So…are you going to tell me what all the earlier stuff was about?"

He shrugged. "Sure. I could tell by the way you were looking at me, you were thinking, 'Great, a gay guy.' So I just played along. It's really great fun actually.

I felt myself turning red. How embarrassing! What a great way to get to know someone.


End file.
